


Break Free

by sitabethel



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Gender Dysphoria, Happy Ending, Multi, Polyamary, Polyfidelity, Slurs, poly exclusive relationship, trans!Ryou
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 10:23:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12702999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sitabethel/pseuds/sitabethel
Summary: Bakura thinks dance classes are girly. Marik and Kek think that Bakura wouldn't last five whole minutes in Ryou's class.





	Break Free

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DisposableVillain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisposableVillain/gifts).



> Disclaimers, notes, and random info:
> 
> This fic was commissioned by Slinking Fox over at ff net for elliot-the nerdist's birthday (Hope I tagged you right as Disposable Villain? If not, yikes, let me know so I can fix it!) 
> 
> The title "Break Free" comes from a Ruby Rose song. You can find it on YouTube. (If you like it, you might also want to look up "The Village" by Wrabel because I thought that was a good video as well). 
> 
> Disclaimers: there are some homophobic/transphobic slurs in the fic because trans!Ryou getting bullied was part of the prompt. The story does have a happy ending, but I wanted to warn ppl about the language. Also, Ryou tries to deal with gender dysphoria through most of the fic. Also (as a fitness instructor I feel like I have to say to anyone that relates to this fic), please never bind during exercise. Your gender is valid already- do not hurt yourself to prove it.
> 
> During the lemon: Ryou doesn't have bottom dysphoria nor does he go through bottom surgery, so at the end when the story refers to his cock, it means his clitoris. However, just personally as a writer I thought cock was a better word to use. I hope the lemon is okay. I honestly feel like I don't have the experience necessary to write trans lemons that are good enough (and researching it didn't help), but the person that commissioned the fic wanted me to try, so I gave it a shot. 
> 
> Finally, whether Kek is trans, or simply non-binary I'm leaving wholly up to the reader. Please go wild with whatever head canons make you happier.

When I was born, my parents named me Amane Bakura and brought me home in a pink blanket. My nursery had daisies and pink butterflies from ceiling to floor, and my crib was half-drowned in ruffles. I’ve seen the pictures. Too many times I’ve seen the pictures. My mother used to force me to sit by her and go through the albums, page by page, while she told me what a beautiful daughter she had. 

I never really thought of it when I was little, about being Amane, but I always liked dump trucks instead of the tea set I had. My dolls sat untouched on their shelves, sometimes still in their boxes, while I was outside chasing frogs in the mud, and every time my mother tried to get me to watch a Disney movie with a princess in it, I’d always wait until she left the room and found a horror movie to watch instead. 

Then I transferred to junior high. It was a bigger school, so most of my friends were in different classes. I found myself in a room full of people that didn’t know me, and the teacher told us that if we went by a different name (a nickname or middle name) then we could write it down. I didn’t have a nickname, and I liked my middle name less than my first, so I wrote down Ryou and turned that in instead. I also started using Ryou online, and smiled whenever my internet friends referred to me as “he” or “him” instead of “she.” 

The more people called me Ryou, the more I realized that was the right name, and the more I wore baseball caps and jerseys that I’d always buy with my birthday money. I got sports bras, then extra small sports bras, struggling into two at a time to flatten a body changing in ways I didn’t like. I threw the skirts in the trash. My parents yelled at me for throwing away brand new clothes. I screamed at them that they were the _wrong_ clothes. They sent Amane up to his room, but it was Ryou who found the scissors and cut off all his hair. 

I’ll admit I cried after I did it. I liked my long hair. That was the only thing my mom and I ever agreed on- only she wanted it braided with ribbons and I wanted it beneath my Hideo Nomo baseball cap. Nonetheless, I had to prove a point. The next morning I went downstairs with short, mangled hair, and asked my mother and father to please call me Ryou. They never did. 

When I was sixteen, I ran away from home. My parents said they loved me, but they loved Amane, not Ryou. They loved a daughter that never existed anywhere but their imagination. My friend Seto is a computer genius and he made me a fake I.D. so I could get a job and work after school. My other friend, Marik, was an orphan raised by his siblings, and he talked his sister into letting me stay with them. 

Marik was beautiful, and it never bothered him when boys laughed at his lavender shirt or earrings. The kids tried making fun of him, but his boyfriend, Kek, was tall, spiteful, and stronger than even the football players. No one made fun of Marik for long. He and Kek didn’t care that I was Ryou- liked me _because_ I was Ryou. They convinced me to grow my hair long again after I told them the story of why I cut it. One night, up in Marik’s room, the three of us were playing with our trading cards and Marik stopped to comb his fingers through my growing hair. I still remember the way my heart bucked in my chest, and how I leaned into his touch. He kissed me first, and before I even realized what we were doing, Kek was cupping my face and kissing me second. 

That was the happiest moment I’d ever known. Each kiss set my belly on fire, but when they lay me down on the floor, I panicked. 

_“Marik-”_

_“Do you not want to?” he asked._

_“I do, but, you know that… you know that-”_

_“Yes, we know you’re trans,” Marik answered._

_“But what we really know is that we want you to be our boyfriend, Ryou.” Kek grinned above me._

_“Oh- okay.”_ My face had been fire. Again, that was the happiest moment I’d ever known. 

Then I met Bakura in gym class my senior year of highschool. I’d bought my first binder that summer, and couldn’t bear to take it off for gym. _I couldn’t bear it_. But our coach was ruthless. He made us run laps around the entire high school and stayed behind us, screaming, to make sure none of us slowed down. 

I thought I’d be okay. I couldn’t breathe, but I pushed through the pain in my lungs and chest and kept moving my legs forward. Then black stars cluttered my vision and all the colors grew faint. I squinted and tried to focus, terrified of passing out and going to the nurse's office. The thought of being outed by the nurse was a cold, heavy terror dragging my stomach down into my bowels. I’m not even sure if it was the running that caused the hyperventilating, or the panic attack, but either way I found myself standing in place with my hands on my knees and unable to pull even the simplest gasps of air into my lungs. As I hunched over, sputtering and fighting for air I couldn’t get into my lungs, the coach stopped and roared into my face. 

_“Done already? It’s only been two miles! Look at you! Pathetic!”_ He grabbed my hair and tugged it, hard enough to make me call out between gasps. _“Look at this hair! What are you, a girl? Get a hair cut and run like a man!”_

The tears came then. They were angry tears. I was angry, but I couldn’t do or say anything because I was still hyperventilating. Nonetheless, I was ashamed that I was crying, like I was proving him right. 

_“Lay off him!”_

I didn’t recognize the voice, but the coach flew back and landed in a puff of dust. He grit his teeth, looking up and opening his mouth to yell, but the person beside me shouted first. 

_“Why the fuck are you touching his hair? Are you some kind of pervert? Should we all go to the principle together and tell her you’re touching boys, or are you going to excuse us for the rest of class and forget this happened?”_

The fear in the coach’s eyes was unsettling. He had the specific look of a man who’d had that conversation with the principle before and didn’t want to have it again. Next I knew, my rescuer was escorting me to the locker room. I was still dizzy and faint, but I started breathing again, shallow and harshly, but breathing. 

_“Thank you_ ,” I whispered to my rescuer. 

He was my height, and skinny like me. Even his long, white hair was similar, but messier and a more coarse texture. It was long, and that made me happy. I guess because that meant I wasn’t the only boy with long, white hair in school. 

He’d been so gentle leading me to the lockers, that it hurt when he shoved me into one of the privacy shower stalls and slammed my back against the tile. 

_“Are you fucking stupid? Take it off right now.”_

_“Wh-what? I don’t-”_

_“The binder, you idiot. What were you thinking wearing that to gym?”_

_“How did you know?”_

_“My cousin. He did the same thing and passed out. Now take it off long enough to catch your breath- don’t look at me like a kicked puppy. I’m not going to tell anyone, that’s why we’re in here alone.”_

I did want the pressure off my chest for a minute, but I was shaking with shame. I hugged myself across the chest, hating the stupid lumps I was trying to hide. 

_“Jesus Fucking Christ.”_ He spun so that he faced away from me. _“I’m not even looking. I’ll even go get a towel for you to dry off, and you can be by yourself. Just don’t pass out, okay?”_

 _“I’m fine,”_ I snapped. 

_“Dude, come on.”_

Maybe it was because he kept talking to me like I was any other guy. And breathing was still hard, so I caved, turning away and staring at the shower tiles, trying to ignore that I even existed in a body at all. 

_“Okay, if you go get a towel… wait, what’s your name?”_

_“Bakura_.” He walked off to fetch a towel. 

_“I’m Ryou!”_ I called after him. 

Taking off the constricting material did help me finally catch my breath, and the towel Bakura brought helped me dry off before having to squeeze back into it. I changed out of my wet gym clothes and into my usual school outfit. 

_“Feel better?”_ he asked. 

_“Yes. Thank you.”_

_“You’re too fucking polite. Come on-” Bakura winked. “Let’s ditch class the rest of the day and go to the arcade.”_

_“But, we’ll get into trouble.”_

_“So what? What they going to do, send a bad report home to my parents? Hmph, they’d have to address it to the cemetery.”_

_“Oh, your parents passed away as well? I’m sorry.”_

_“As well? Are yours-”_

_“No. Sorry, I, uh, I’m not sure where my parents are. I haven’t seen them in years, but my boyfriend Marik is an orphan as well.”_

_“You’re dating_ that _flamboyant asshole?”_ Bakura’s eyebrows disappeared into the white fringe of hair as he raised them. He looked a little disappointed, though, muttering, _“I thought he was dating that maniac that’s always getting sent to the principal's office at the same time as me.”_

 _“Kek.”_ I nodded. _“We’re all dating.”_

I blushed after I said it. I forgot that it wasn’t the norm to have two boyfriends, but something about Bakura’s casual mannerisms made me talk too much around him. It was almost like we shared headspace; I felt strangely comfortable around him in a way I wasn’t used to.

 _“Really?”_ Bakura’s face brightened. _“Then maybe you should invite me over for dinner sometime?”_

_“I’d like that. Would you actually come over? Tonight? After the arcade.”_

_“After the arcade? Does that mean I talked you into ditching class after all?”_

_“You’re too cute for me to resist._ ” I reached out my hand for him to take, and noticed the way his cheeks tinted pink as he snorted, looked away, but grabbed my offered hand to lead me out of the gym. 

We spent the day playing video games and then picked up takeout to bring home for everyone. Marik recognized Bakura right away from class. I thought they hated each other, at first, because they fought so much, but Marik kept asking me to bring Bakura home for dinner, and then Kek asked him to spend the night a few months later. 

This entire time I stayed friends with Seto, who also knew Marik and Bakura. They worked on hacktivist projects together. To this day, I’m not 100% certain everything they do is necessarily… legal, but I don’t care. They accept me for who I am, so I do the same for them. Besides, it was Seto’s fake I.D. that let me work when I was on my own and needed money, so it’d be hypocritical for me to judge. I’m not sure exactly when Seto transitioned from friend to partner. Perhaps it was when he came to us with the newspaper wanted ads in his hand and suggested we all chip in together to buy a house.

***

And now I’m 24, getting ready for work. I pulled the tight, black sports bra over my stupid chest. It didn’t work as well as my binder, but after I tossed on a tight, black tank top and baggy racerback, the look worked, and I could breathe. It wouldn’t be good if I passed out in the middle of teaching class. I checked the tassels hanging from the pockets of my green cargo pants, and then grabbed my gym bag. 

On my way out, I saw Bakura sitting in a recliner and stooped down to kiss the crown of his head.

“Where the hell are you going?” Bakura asked. “The game is on.”

“You know I teach my Zumba tonight.” 

“Who cares about that dancy bullshit? _The game is on_.” 

“Sorry, Bakura. I should be home before the 9th inning.” 

“I don’t even see why the hell you teach a _dance class_. You should do a _real sport_.”

“Oh please, you couldn’t even last an hour in a Zumba class. Don’t act tough.” I laughed, blowing him another kiss as I walked out the door. 

I loved everything about the aerobics room- except the mirrors. The wooden floors gleamed with wax, and were perfect for pivots and spins during a fast-paced salsa or hip-hop song. A ballet barre ran across the back wall for stretching after class, and fairy lights lined the perimeter of the ceiling. We even had black lights for glow in the dark classes- a feature I used every night. I felt better in the dark. I felt less paranoid about less-than-flat chest in the dark, and my slender arms that wouldn’t bulk no matter how many bench presses I did or how many whey protein shakes I drank. 

Besides, the ladies loved how my hair glowed neon-violet in the black lights. It was fun for them, and a convenient way to hide for me. Everyone wins. I plugged my iPod into the speaker system and found the right playlist. The bass thudded from the speakers and I ran out of the aerobics office clapping my hands, building the energy in the room to get everyone pumped. 

It was easy to get lost in class. That was why I fell in love with it enough to go from student to teacher. Mirrors and dysphoria aside, when the music kicked in, a sultry cumbia or heart-pounding merengue, I forgot about what my body _looked like_ and had fun with what it could _do_. Pump-pump across-the-room, pump-pump across-the-room. A tight core, feet quick across the wooden dance floor, shouting _whoop-whoop!_ with each chest-pump with my students, their joy was contagious, involuntary, and it consumed me. 

The sweat rolled down the sides of my face and soaked through my shirts at the small of my back. Laughing, I slipped my hair into a quick ponytail between songs, too hot to be stylish. _La Mordidita_ played and the everyone cheered. Obvious class favorite. I couldn’t help thinking that Ricky Martin must be a top because he sure knew how to wear my ass out in class. By the end I’m winded and spent, but grinning with everyone else. 

But I didn’t look in the mirror as I turned the lights back on. I just grabbed the sign in sheet and rushed out of the room. 

“How was class?” Marik asked when I entered the house fifteen minutes later. 

“Good.” I kissed his cheek. “Gonna shower. Be right back.”

“We’ll have dinner ready by the time you get down.”

“Thank you!” I called as I ran up the stairs. 

I showered, dried, and slipped right back into my binder. It was late enough that I could have gone without it at home, but… I didn’t want to. 

“See Bakura? I told you there’d be plenty of time.” We ate in the living room so Bakura and I could finish watching the game. 

“It’s still stupid.” 

“How would you know? You’ve never tried it.” Our team was losing, so arguing was more fun than watching them strike out. 

“I don’t have to try it. I just _know_ it’s stupid.” 

“Baseball is stupid.” Seto walked in with a plate. He sat down in the other recliner as if shots hadn’t just been fired. 

“Suck on my rosy asshole you MMA piece of shit.” Bakura glared at Seto. “At least baseball is a legitimate sport- unlike stupid things like martial arts and dancing.”

“Fight me. We’ll see who’s in better shape.” Seto smirked. 

“I like baseball,” I said, taking a bite of green beans. “And I like Zumba.” 

“Out of all the things, why _dancing_.” Bakura wrinkled his face. 

“I’m gay. My only job options were wedding planner, interior decorator, florist, hair stylist, or Zumba instructor.” I counted each point by tapping fingers. 

“It’s true.” Marik nodded, face stoic and serious. “Those are the only jobs the clichés will let us have. I should get my license as well.” 

“You have enough sleeveless hoodies to make a great instructor.” I winked at him. 

“Rude. This is nurse erasure.” 

“Sorry, Kek.” I giggled. “I forgot you just started nursing school.” 

Bakura rolled his eyes, groaned, and flung his arms in the air, giving up the argument. It was a shame it was quitting already because our team still sucked and I didn’t want to witness them falling on their own bats. No one should witness a massacre that horrible. 

“I have a great idea.” Kek elbowed Marik in the ribs. 

“What’s that?” Marik grinned. 

“I think we should all take one of Ryou’s classes. To support him.” 

“Oh yes.” Marik’s grin doubled in size. “That’s a fantastic idea. We’ll go next week.”

“I can’t.” Seto frowned. “I have to test that script we wrote, remember?” 

“Oh yeah.” Marik nodded, following up with a shrug. “That’s fine. We really just want Bakura to go so we can watch him flop around like a dying fish.”

“Hell no, I’m not going. I don’t want to take a girly-ass dance class- oh _fuck_!” Bakura winced when he realized what he’d just said. 

“Bakura, you asshole.” Kek clenched his hand into a fist.

“Ryou, I-”

“-it's fine,” I said.

_He didn't mean anything by it. He didn't mean anything by it. I know he doesn't think badly about me-_

It hurt… to hear that.

“I said that because of my own hangups about gay stereotypes. I wasn't even thinking about you-”

“-that's the problem, you selfish asshole, you were only thinking about yourself and not anyone else in the room.” Marik scooted to the edge of the couch and leaned forward as he snapped at Bakura.

“I know that,” Bakura hissed between clenched teeth. “You don't have to explain how I’m an asshole. I'm aware.”

“I said it's fine.” I started at my plate of food, no longer hungry.

“It's not fine, Ryou.” Bakura stood up and walked to the couch. 

He knelt in front of me, pulling at my plate of food. I wouldn't let go, however, I wanted to hold the plate. I wanted to stare at the half-eaten meatloaf and _not_ think and _not_ look at Bakura. I _needed to stare at the plate_. 

“Ryou… please.” 

Bakura was not a polite person, so on the rate times he said please- unironically- it carried a lot of weight. My fingers relaxed against the plate and he set it on the floor, holding my hands.

“I… don't say this a lot, or ever, but I'm- I'm sorry. I mean it.”

“It-it’s fine-”

“No it's not. I can tell you're hurt. I don't know how to make that better. I guess I can't, but… Ryou, I care about you so much-”

“I know.” I sniffed. At least I wasn't crying. Close, but holding back. “I know, Bakura.”

“I'll go to the class.”

“No, you don't have to. Marik and Kek were giving you a hard time.” 

“Yeah, Bakura.” Marik shook his head. “Guess it was kinda our fault, wasn't it? We herded you into a situation you didn’t like.” 

“I still think he should go,” Kek said. “I've gone a few times. It's harder than he thinks, and taking a class will make him respect that.” 

“Kek's right,” Bakura agreed. “I'm going.” 

“Sure.” I sighed. I wanted it to be over with already.

“Unless you don't want me there?” Bakura gave me a worried look.

“I don't mind if you really want to go, but please don't do it to patronize me.” I stroked his messy, white hair. 

“It's not like that.” Bakura rested his head in my lap. “It's never like that, Ryou.”

Ah, my name. The name I chose for myself. The name they never argued with, not even Marik and Seto who'd known me since elementary school. I couldn't stay upset with Bakura with his head on my lap and my name so soft on his lips.

“I believe you.” I continued to stroke his hair. 

“Baseball is stupid,” Seto said, rising to his feet. “Let's go play Monster World.” 

***

That night Bakura curled extra close to me in bed. Marik was on my other side, a loose arm draped over my chest, but he was slack and comfortable next to me. Not Bakura. Bakura gripped me like I'd push him away if he didn't hang on tight enough.

“I'm not mad at you,” I whispered. 

“I didn't even know I had a conscience, but I guess when it comes to you, I do. I've never felt like I've fucked up so badly.” 

“I get it, it was an accident.” 

“But I still hurt you. This group… you're the only people in the world I'd never want to hurt.” 

“I promise I'm okay now.” 

I meant it. Of course I'd felt bad when he said it. How could I not? But Bakura, all of them, were the reason I even had enough confidence to become an instructor in the first place. If I hadn't met them, I'd still have short hair, and would have kept wearing my binder in gym until I passed out and hurt myself. I would have done anything I could, no matter how damaging, to prove I was _worth_ being a man, but they never expected that. They always told me to do what made me happy. One gender stereotype couldn't undo years of support. I tilted Bakura's face upward so our gazes meet. His eyes gleamed like obsidian in the dim light of the room.

“I promise.” 

Bakura nodded. He looked vulnerable with his cheeks cradled in my hands and his eyes wide and glassy as he searched my face to see if I was being sincere or putting on a brave front. I wanted to protect him from the insecurity I knew he was feeling, just like he always protected me- ever since that first day when he knocked the gym coach to the ground. 

I kissed his nose, giggling when he scrunched it up on reflex. Then I kissed his forehead and his lips. He sighed, melting into each kiss, relaxing against my body. 

“Are we kissing Bakura's face off? Because you know I'm always in the mood for that.” Mark rolled half on top of me so he could reach over and kiss Bakura as well. 

We had to sit up when Kek and Seto joined in. The five of us pressed together in a circle and there were lips gracing down my throat, and fingers carding through my hair. I could tell the hand rubbing the small of my back was Kek because of his weightlifting callouses, but I had no idea who was squeezing my inner thigh. 

My hands and lips were both on Marik's chest. I kneaded his broad muscles, and flicked my tongue against his nipples, and kissed down to his belly where fine, golden hairs spread across his stomach like a field of wheat. 

I noticed Bakura kissing him and decided it was the perfect time to officially _make up_ with Bakura. I tackled him against the mattress, pulled down his boxers, kissed in a line from his navel down, and didn't stop licking and kissing until he called out my name. 

***

The entire week was a slow, dreadful weight in my stomach. I just wanted them to hurry up, take the class, and then forget it ever happened. I sat at the kitchen table, stirring my protein drink with a straw and frowning without taking a sip.

“Hey.” Seto sat beside me.

“Hey.” I faked a smile for his benefit. 

“Do you think you'll trip tonight in front of everyone?”

“No.” My second smile was a little more genuine.

“Will you forget the moves?”

“No.” 

“Will Bakura hate it so much that he'll leave us all and go marry a woman?” 

“Of course not.” I laughed.

“See then? Your fears are invalid.” 

“Thanks, Seto.” My smile became real. 

“Wish I was going. It really will be funny watching Bakura trip over his own feet.” Seto reached out, toying with the ends of my hair. 

I rested my head against his shoulder, soaking up the comfort of his presence and letting it calm my nerves. 

“I know I’m stupid, and I worry too much-”

“Ryou,” Seto reprimanded me. 

“I meant nervous, sorry,” I muttered.” 

“You said what you meant, but what you meant was the result of a misconceived perception of yourself.” 

I hummed in answer. There was no arguing with Seto. Besides, his dry, awkward way of comforting and arguing always cheered me up. I sat there for a minute longer, resting on his shoulder, but I eventually had to push myself away. 

“I should get ready now. Need me to heat up something to eat for you before I go?”

“Marik said we’re ordering delivery when everyone gets home.” 

“Okay.” I kissed the crown of Seto’s head. “I’ll see you when we get back.”

“Ryou?”

“Yeah?” I turned around to look at him before I disappeared upstairs. 

A barely-there smile twitched the corners of his mouth upward. “I miss you already.”

I blushed and whispered, “I love you.” 

Upstairs I slipped my shirt over my shoulders and stared at myself in front of the full length mirror Marik had hung on the closet door. At least since I was petite the binder did a good job of flattening my chest. Still, I couldn’t help but imagine how nice it’d be to walk around the house in only boxers like the others. I leaned forward, stroking my chin and wondering what I’d look like with facial hair. Bakura’s was silvery, when he let it grown out- which he tried to avoid. He hated facial hair, so did Marik. I wish I could trade with them. I felt like a boy- a prepubescent boy, not a 24 year old man. It was stupid, so stupid. I was stupid. Everything was stupid. Thinking about this was stupid. 

I grit my teeth and forced myself to take off the binder. There was always a little temptation, to leave it on, to try and tough it out for a class, but I _knew_ it wasn’t healthy, I knew if I passed out in front of my students that they’d worry- not to mention the quadruple boyfriend lecture I’d get at home. 

So I took it off and put on a sports bra and layered two brightly colored tank tops that would glow under the black lights to both hide myself and make me more visible in class. I put my hair up and tossed on orange cargo pants with ZUMBA painted down the legs in white paint- the letters also glowed during class, and the orange stayed bright. 

“Hey, Ryou.” Marik walked in with a sinister grin on his face and Bakura on his arm. “I wanted to dress Bakura up for class. Any suggestions?”

“Yes. Comfortable clothes that he can move around freely in.”

“No, no. I want him to look good.” 

“Marik, he’s only doing this to be nice. Don’t torture him too badly.”

“You two are about the same size. Let him borrow something.” 

“Whatever.” Bakura rolled his eyes. “Might as well get the full, idiotic experience.”

“Well when you put it like that.” 

I gave him a black tank with Zumba on the front, and blue and white pants. He changed without arguing, and tied his hair in a knot behind his head. Honestly, he looked really cute in the outfit. I hope I looked that good when other people looked at me. 

Marik, on the other hand, didn’t look cute- he looked spectacular. He wore a lavender sleeveless hoodie and a matching coin skirt over black pants. He shimmered with glitter, and he even had eyeliner around his eyes like he wore whenever we went out somewhere.

“Marik you look-”

“Fabulous. Yes, I know. Thank you.” Marik starred in the mirror, combing his hair with his fingers. 

“Yes, but you’re going to sweat.”

“Don’t worry, sweety. This is Urban Decay and it’s waterproof. It’s not budging no matter how intense the class is.” 

“Christ, you’re so excessive, Marik.” Bakura shook his head. 

“I’m going to have fun tonight. I don’t give a fuck. Who’s going to stop me?”

“You’re going to have twenty girls clinging to you all night long,” I warned. 

“Eh, I don’t mind the attention.” Marik shrugged. “If they get too clingy I’ll just make it obvious that Bakura’s my boyfriend.”

“Damn, Marik, you look like Cinderella dressed for a ball,” Kek said as he walked into the room. He wore a black tank top and gray sweatpants. Kek knew better than to dress too fancy. He’d taken my classes before and knew they were hot, sweaty business. 

“Everyone looks ready. Let’s go!” 

Marik drove us to the gym. There were squeals of delight from my students when I walked in with attractive guys in tow. They swarmed the three and started trying to convince them to come to every class. Some of the older students remembered Kek as my boyfriend, and they teased him about only showing up to watch me dance. Marik drank up the attention. Kek ignored it. Bakura was clearly uncomfortable, but Marik saved him by handing him money and asking Bakura to go buy some bottled water at the front desk to give him a chance to escape. 

Once Bakura came back, I hit the lights and started the music before my regulars had a chance to further harass him. I felt tight during the warm up, my entire body stiff from being nervous, but by the third song I got into the music and started to relax. I was still anxious- no one can really _stop_ anxiety- but the class was fun despite my worries. 

_Quiero ver bailar tu pelo_

_Quiero ser tu ritmo_

_que le enseñes a mi boca_

_tus lugares favoritos (favoritos, favoritos baby)_

_Déjame sobrepasar tus zonas de peligro_

_hasta provocar tus gritos_

_y que olvides tu apellido_

A merengue played next, and I hyped up the class, encouraging them to shout and hold their core in tightly. Before I knew it, we were coming down, then stretching, then class was over and I had to turn back on the lights. 

My throat tightened. The distraction of the music was gone, leaving me with the ridiculous fear that Marik, Kek, and Bakura would be miserable- that Bakura would sneer and say my class was girly and pathetic just like me- while the other two stayed silent out of politeness, but their faces would be sympathetic because deep down they agreed with Bakura.

And I know it was fucking stupid. I know that. And knowing that my insecurities were all exaggerations in my head made me feel crazy, but I couldn't stop the rush of thoughts from raining down on me, soaking me with fear. 

Marik wore fucking body glitter to class. He loved accessories and jewelry and getting roses on Valentine's Day. To him the chance to move and show off and feel pretty was the entire appeal, so he'd never criticize me. And Kek was a powerlifter, but he's never given me anything but support and took my classes multiple times. He always passed it off as a chance to work on cardio, but I always knew he was really doing it because it was something I loved, so he wanted to share it with me.

They've always had my back with everything I've ever done in my life, so why were my hands trembling? Why was I drowning in panic and doubt? Why did I feel like my B cup chest was a double D and my narrow hips were broader than saddle bags hanging off the sides of Marik's motorcycle, and that I wasn't worthy of boyfriends that loved me because I honestly wasn't worthy of anything. My face burned with embarrassment, and I hope anyone glancing at me mistook it for the flush of exercise.

I smiled and waved goodbye to everyone, but my chest felt tight. Anxiety was worse than even the tightest binder and every breath was constricted. 

Then Bakura was standing in front of me with his hands on his knees. He was dripping sweat, the stray wisps of hair that fell out of his bun were glued to his red face, and his breaths came out as short puffs.

“I swear to God, Ryou, I'm never going to make fun of what you do again. I'm fucking dying. Fuck. How do you make it look so easy?” 

“It's called being physically fit, you moron,” Kek said. “Ryou's in better shape than you.”

“No shit.” Bakura exhaled a long breath, trying to catch good breath. “I figured that out on my own, but thanks for pointing out the obvious.” 

“Thanks for trying a class, Bakura.” I handed him a drink from my water bottle since his was already empty. “It means a lot.”

“Next time I'm going to keep my mouth shut so I don't have to embarrass myself.” Bakura grinned, stealing a swig from the water bottle before passing it back. “Can we go get dinner now? I'm fucking starving after that.”

“Yeah, where did Marik go?” Kek looked around. “Did they kidnap him?”

“I wouldn't doubt it.” I chuckled and went out to the desk area to turn in my sign in sheet and see if Marik was in the lobby.

He was dab in the center of a crowd of excited women, promising he'd be back next week. He looked up and saw me and waved, excusing himself from the crowd and jogging over to where I stood. 

“You know, I don't know why I've never tried your class before- but I loved it.” Marik grabbed my arms and pressed our sweaty foreheads together, a huge smile on his face.

“Really?” 

“Yes! It was incredible. Can I come next week? I already told a few people I would.” 

I laughed. “With someone as gorgeous as you in the room, I might have to charge per person- classes are going to get crowded.”

“Now Ryou, you know I'm weak against flattery and compliments. Be careful, or I might fall for you.” 

We were laughing, faces close and arms still locked. I didn't really think much of how we must have looked. Sure it was a affectionate moment, but it's not like we were groping each other or sucking face in public. So when a voice shouted at us, it made me jump backwards.

“Hey! Why don't you dykes get a room!” 

He stood next to the drink cooler, a barrel for a chest and two cannons for arms. Black hair poked from the top of his tank, and his black and red gym bag lay next to his sneakers. He stared at us with a disgusted face. I noticed Marik’s hands ball into fists. I tugged at the back of his shirt, afraid he’d make a scene at my job, but he was angry and when Marik gets angry it’s like he goes away and can’t hear anyone else. 

“Excuse me?” Marik asked in a tone that suggested that he was about to go off on the guy that shouted at them. “This is my boyfriend, you jerk. We’re not lesbians.” 

“Marik, it’s okay,” I tried to speak, but my voice was a whisper. I felt the stress crashing in on me. A stupid pink box capturing me and _shrinking_ until I couldn’t breath. It felt like that day I ran two miles with my first binder, and here was the coach all over again and I knew I should STAND UP FOR MYSELF. I couldn’t always let Bakura and Marik and the others do it for me, but I WAS AT WORK, and I didn’t want a scene. 

“She’s wearing a sports bra.” He scoffed.

 _She._

My face was so red. I realized that in all the jumping around and spinning, the strap of my sports bra had slid down my shoulder. It _wasn’t fair_.

 _She._

“You got some tig ol bitties to be talking about another guy’s chest.” Marik stepped in front of us, but he couldn’t shield me from words. 

“You damn queers need to be rounded up and shot. Get a biology book, you freaks.” 

I ran out of the gym before the box shrank anymore. If it shrank anymore I’d be crushed. 

“Ryou!” Marik screamed my name, but I couldn’t hold myself together anymore. I had to escape. 

Pushing through the double glass doors, the sun slanted in my face. I threw up my hand to block the blinding light, seeing nothing but each step as I raced down the stair, my entire world condensed into each new step because somewhere I had enough sense to know that falling down a flight of stairs would be bad. Or would it? I really hated my body at that moment and wanted it to break and _smashsmashsmash_ to pieces. Maybe I could crawl out of it then-

-and be real. 

I hid behind the stairwell, knees clutched against my chest to hide it, and cried. I didn’t want to cry. The last thing I wanted to do was fucking cry, but the whole week and been a tightrope walk with overwhelming dysphoria gaping on either side, and I’d finally fallen into it, and I couldn’t breathe- _again_. Seemed like I could never breathe. There was always too much weight on my chest. And it was all stupid, so stupid, I couldn’t take it. 

Kek found me. He crouched in front of me and scrubbed the drying salt from my cheeks. 

“It’s getting dark.”

I didn’t answer. 

“Kinda cold.”

I didn’t answer.

He scooped me up into his arms. He could do that because he was strong and I was little. I would have fought my way out of it, but I was exhausted so I curled against his chest and sucked in the musky sweat smell from his shirt. I found myself in the backseat of the car, sandwiched in between Marik and Bakura. 

“Did you guys get me fired?” I finally forced some words out.

“No.” Marik shook his head. “But they couldn’t fire you. He was _harassing you_.” 

“You passed for a woman without even trying and I still can’t pass for a guy.”

And there it was. What was really bothering me. He saw the sports bra. He saw Amane and not Ryou. 

But I’m Ryou. 

“That fucking asshole doesn’t know the difference between gender and eyeliner. Fuck him.” Marik grit his teeth, nails digging into his palms. 

“Ryou,” Bakura said, a lot more quiet than usual. It was a little frightening, to hear him so calm. “I know telling you not to worry will just stress you out, but trust me, It’s going to be alright.” 

“You can’t beat him up!” Huh, I had a voice after all. Why was it easy to scream in the car at Bakura but not at the guy that was a jerk? 

“I won’t,” Bakura said. It was suspicious. 

“Bakura-”

“It’s okay.” He smiled at me. Bakura didn’t smile, not like that, not warm and friendly like that. It was the look of someone with a knife behind their back. “I told you. It’ll be okay.” 

“Please, just… let’s not talk about it anymore.” I hung my head down, hugging myself.

The rest of the ride home was quiet and dismal. They deserved better than this, but I couldn’t manage to fake a smile just then. The moment the car stopped, and I could get out, I trudged upstairs to take a shower. I thought a hot shower washing the sweat off would make me feel better. I waited for the water to heat up, peeling off first my pants and then my shirts layer by layer until I got to my sports bra. I stood there, fingers gripping the bottom band, but my arms refused to pull up. I couldn’t handle seeing myself. The tears dripped onto my bare feet as I stood shivering from being sweaty and cold, but… no. I sat on the tiled floor, hot water rushing down my hair, sports bra and underwear soaked through, knees curled up and my face pressed into them as I wept and wept and wept. 

I heard the door open and a ruffling noise, but I didn’t look up. Then I felt hands smoothing the wet hair away from my face. 

“Ryou… Ryou…” Marik whispered my name as he lifted my face up to look at him. He kept his boxers and a tank top on, as if afraid of being naked when I wasn’t. “The water’s getting cold.”

I shook my head no. Not to argue about the water, but to show that I didn’t intend on getting up. 

“Come on.” Marik turned off the water and lifted me to my feet. “We’re going to get you dry, okay?”

I let him move my limbs like one would a doll, guiding me out of the shower stall and onto the fuzzy rug that stretched from the toilet to the sink. Marik grabbed a towel and started drying my hair. I didn’t resist until he reached for the sports bra.

“No,” I begged. 

“We’re just going to dry off real quick, and then get you right back into warm clothes, okay?”

“No.” I shook my head, pressing my breasts into my chest. I lunged for the sink, ripping the draw open and grabbing the scissors out.

“No.” Marik grabbed my wrist, holding it in place as gently as he could while inhibiting my movements. 

“Marik let go!”

“Ryou, you like your hair!”

“It has to be short! I look like a girl!” I tugged my arm, trying to free myself.

“No you don’t! That guy was a jackass, ignore him!”

“You’re just saying that to be nice. You _know_ I don’t look masculine enough.”

“That idiot thought I was a girl, too. What the fuck does he know?” 

“Marik please, let me do this.”

“Fine!” Marik held the hand with the scissors in both of his. “Chop it all off. Shave it bald for all I care. But let me make an appointment to have it done by a hair dresser. When you’re calm. You can’t make decisions dripping wet in the bathroom.” 

“Yes I can.” I smacked his shoulder with my free hand. He still didn’t let go. 

“Ryou, you’re shaking.” Marik’s voice took on a scolding edge. “You can’t stand here and make yourself sick.” He pushed the towel into my arms. “Take off those wet things, and then you can put your binder back on. I promise if you still want to cut your hair in the morning we’ll do a walk-in with my stylist.”

“I want a barber, not a stylist.” I huffed. I knew I was being difficult, but I couldn’t help myself. The tension snapped in my body, scissors dropping from my hand.

Marik held me. He crushed me to his chest and I let his warmth seep into my cold, shaking arms.

“I’ll change.” I dropped my underwear to the floor and allowed Marik to help me struggle out of the sports bra. As soon as I was dry, he fetched a pair of Bakura’s favorite boxers and my binder and helped me dress again, and then he took me downstairs to the sofa and swaddled me into my favorite blanket, wrapping his arms around me.

“Where is everyone?” 

“They’ll be here in a moment. Let’s find a good horror movie to watch.” 

“They're not beating that guy up, are they?”

“Bakura and Seto are upstairs finishing some work,” Marik said. “And Kek's out getting something to cheer you up.”

“Oh… okay. I’m glad they’re not going to do anything stupid.” 

“We know you like your job.” Marik flipped through the channels until he found a slasher flick and then tossed the remote to the side.

I was numb, crashing from the emotional exhaustion and stress. I half dozed in Marik’s arms until the door opened. Kek appeared a minute later with a box in both hands. 

“We figured you wouldn’t want dinner.”

“Not really,” I confessed. 

“But we thought you might eat these.” He opened the box, displaying three dozen cream puffs. Kek nudged the box at me. “I got enough for everyone to share, but you have to eat the first one.” 

I looked up at him. I knew he wanted to go find that guy and snap his neck, honestly and truly snap his neck, and the fact that he went out and bought my favorite food instead… how do you express gratitude that went beyond words, or language, or even gestures? 

“Th-thank you,” I whispered, and it was not enough to show how much I loved them. But I knew what they wanted from me, so I reached out a slender, pale arm, and plucked a pastry from the box, biting into it and licking cream from my lips. 

Marik exhaled a relieved breath beside me. 

“I’m sorry, don’t worry about me. I’m fine-”

“Don’t apologize to us,” Kek sat down beside me, putting the box on the table where we could all reach it. “You didn’t do a damn thing wrong.” 

“I should deal with it better.” I took another cream puff, toying with it more than eating it. 

“When I was ten.” Marik admired his manicured nails as he spoke. “My father decided that I was too old for ‘girl toys’ and I needed to ‘learn how to be a real man’ and that son-of-a-bitch took away my rhinestone tiara and gave me a football and told me to go outside. Now that tiara happened to be my king’s crown, and I couldn’t see why I’d possibly want to throw a ball up and down when I could be a king and rule the world, so do you know what I did? I dug through the trash, found my goddamn tiara, and then threw that fucking football right through his living room window. I never felt bad about it. He died a year later and I trashed everything in the house that reminded me of sports.” 

“I wish I had your confidence when it came to this stuff.” I smiled at Marik’s story. 

“Hmph, I don’t think it’s confidence. I hate feeling trapped, so I get pissed off when people try to put me in a box.” 

I looked at Marik, and realized that they understood in a different way. Marik tried to avoid the “hetero” box the same way I avoided the “girl” box the same way Bakura avoided the “flamboyantly gay stereotype” box. Footsteps echoed down the stairway and Seto and Bakura walked around to the couch. 

“How are you feeling?” Seto asked. 

“Better,” I answered. “I’m sorry-”

Kek pressed a finger to my lips before I could finish apologizing. I exhaled through my nose, but smiled against his finger. Marik and Kek scooted to the sides, giving Seto and Bakura the spots beside me, and I wondered what was up. I could tell they were up to something. 

“Look.” Bakura handed me his phone.

I looked at it, frowning. It looked like the screen to an online bank account, one with a lot of money. _A lot of money._

“I don’t understand why you’re showing this to me?” 

“Did you see the name?” Seto asked. 

I looked back to the phone screen. It was mine. This was a savings account for me opened an hour ago. One with $35,000 in it. The phone dropped from my hand and I jerked my head up.

“No, I really don’t understand.”

“It’s a gift,” Bakura said. 

“Where the _fuck_ did you get that sort of money?” I hissed, suspicious. “Did you steal it?”

“Kinda.” Bakura shrugged. 

“Then I don’t want it.”

“Too late. It’s already yours,” Seto answered. 

“You guys, no. Give it back to whoever deserves it-”

“You deserve it,” Kek said in a quick, sharp tone.

“No. I didn’t earn it. It’s not mine.”

“It’s his,” Marik said. “After you left, Bakura pretended to bump into him and stole his I.D. from his wallet.”

“What? The guy from the gym?” I blinked for a moment. So _that’s_ why they agreed not to beat him up. Bastards. Those loveable, _stupid bastards_. “You guys _can’t_.” 

“Mr. Cis-het was only visiting the gym on a day pass while traveling,” Seto explained. “He owns a prestigious company known for funnelling large sums into money into government policies that place industry over environment, corporate gains over livable wages, and even campaigns against women’s health and marriage equality. At least, he _did_ own such a company. His stocks are about to plummet.” 

“Ryou, this guy is legitimate scum.” Bakura picked up where Seto left off. “ _Do not_ feel bad about this.”

“What… what the fuck do you guys do up in the attic all day long?” I asked. I knew they hacked some things, but… crashing an entire company? They could do that? 

“We fight the pharaohs of the world,” Bakura answered. “The men who succeed in life by climbing over everyone else.” 

“There are seven specific companies worldwide we've decided to go after,” Marik added. “Up until now we've only been an irritant, but it's time for us to start doing actual damage.” 

Kek shrugged. “That jackass from the gym volunteered to be our test subject the moment he messed with you.” 

“You know about this too? Are you even in nursing school? Or was that a fake-out while you played hacktivist with the others?” I asked, my head was reeling. 

“Nursing school is real.” Kek was too dark to properly blush, but I could tell he was a little embarrassed. “I wanted the insurance.” 

“Insurance? Are you sick?” 

“No. I was going to ask you to marry me.”

“Marry you?” Now I was the one blushing, and my complexion wouldn't hide it.

“Yeah, so you could get in my insurance and have your hormones covered.” 

“You went to nursing school just to help me get on testosterone?” I thought I was out of tears, but my eyes were stinging all over again.

“Kinda. I mean, I've sent enough people to the hospital when I was younger, so I guess part of it was for personal redemption- heal people instead of hurt them, but as soon as I realized the benefits that came with the job…” 

“Kek, get over here.”

He knelt in the floor in front of me and I showered him in kisses while combing the tangles out of his spiky hair.

“You're perfect, just how you are. We've told you this,” Seto said.

Bakura finished his thought. “But if this is what you need to see it yourself, then dammit, you're getting it. This should be enough to cover counseling, hormones, and top surgery.” 

“Think of us like nerdy computer Robin Hoods.” Marik winked. “Sure we take enough money to pay our bills, but we redirect most of it into charities.” 

“I still don't know if I should take this.” The tears on my cheeks were from joy, but I still tried to dry them from my face. “I appreciate it, but-” 

“Well if you marry Kek, even for the insurance, the rest of us are going to get jealous,” Marik teased. “So this way is really better.” 

“I don't deserve this. I don't deserve any of you.” I folded against my own lap, hiding my face from them.

“Ryou.” Bakura lifted my face back up, caressing my cheek with the tips of his fingers. “You do. You do deserve it. We all do. We deserve to be happy, fuck societal expectations.” 

“Okay.” I nodded, swiping my forearm across my eyes. “Okay. It's rude not to accept a gift, right? I suppose I have no choice.” 

“And if you still want to get your hair cut tomorrow, we'll go together,” Marik said.

“Thank you, Marik. Maybe… Maybe after I get my top surgery, I might. Just to see how I feel with short hair? I can always grow it back, right?”

“Of course.” Seto glided his fingers through my hair. “You look good either way.”

I started laughing. “Oh my God, I'm already getting excited. I can't wait to walk around the house without a shirt on like the rest of you. Kek, will you teach me how to shave with a straight razor?” 

“Of course.” 

“Damn. Sexy.” Marik fanned himself. “You know watching a man shave with a straight razor is like my kink.” 

“I'll make sure I leave the bathroom door opened then.” I grinned at Marik. 

“Damn. Now I'm excited.” 

“Are you guys going to share these with me? I can't eat them all myself.” I tracked over Kek's shoulder and grabbed the box of creampuffs.

Seto opened his mouth and I pushed one of the pastries inside. A bit of cream clung to his bottom lip, so I leaned in and licked it away. 

“Good idea.” Bakura elbowed my side, and then did the same thing to Marik, intentionally dabbing cream on his lips so he had plenty to lick clean.

“Who's going to feed me?” Kek mock pouted, and Seto grabbed a creampuff for Kek before I had the chance. 

We ate the entire box that way, and then ordered pizza since none of us had eaten dinner. The five of us cuddled together afterward, watching movies until it was time for bed, and in the morning I made pancakes for everyone, trying to show them how much I appreciated them. I don't think I could ever show them enough though.

***

It hurt. I mean, of course it hurt, it was surgery, but I didn't realize how much it'd hurt. It was a keyhole procedure, because my chest was small enough for it and I wanted to try to keep as much sensation as I could. I was numb right after, but then I was so sore and prickly that I almost wished the numbness would come back. 

I thought it was going to be like Cinderella getting her shoes for the ball- oh what a stupid analogy, but you know what I mean- magic. But it was less magical and more not being able to move around at all or sleep comfortably. Having four boyfriends competing with each other to reach things for me was a definite bonus that most guys don't have, and that did make me feel like the world was full of magic even if the surgery wasn't. 

And the itching! My God, the itching! The doctor kept telling me that was the nerves healing, but I thought I'd go out of my mind from the constant need to scratch but not being able to. I hugged a pillow to my chest, and sometimes screamed into it.

And then there was the nerve wracking day six weeks later when I was able to go back to work. Being able to slip a single shirt on without a sports bra made all the pain and itching worth it. It was especially nice because I was still bothered by the way my chest looked naked. The scars were still pink and angry, there were still numb spots, the entire thing had been what I'd wanted more than anything, but once I had it, it was still a struggle, but when I looked in the mirror… when I looked in the mirror in my Zumba clothes, I did feel more like myself than I ever had before and that was a really, really good feeling to have. My biceps had filled out a bit from the months of hormones before the surgery- I was a little broader than Bakura afterward- ha! And the shirt fell down without the telltale rise that I'd always hated before. It was great.

My students felt rather unanimous about the change- my chest looked great, but how dare I cut my hair! They were also happy to see Marik and Bakura in class with me, both insisted on coming back with me. Marik for fun, Bakura because he's ride or die like that. 

One year after that and Bakura had me pinned to the couch. He wouldn't stop grabbing my chest and licking my nipples. I had thin, crescent shaped scars, but those didn’t bother me much. Bakura had a scar on his belly from getting his appendix removed, and Kek had stripes on his back from his father whipping him. He didn’t like to talk about it, so we never did, but having spent years seeing their scars made me less self-conscious about my own. 

“Bakura!” I half moaned, half lectured. “If you don't stop I'm dragging you up to the bedroom.”

“How can I help it? Seven years of you hiding your body all the time and now you have it on display begging me to touch and kiss it.” 

My response was a moan. I used to insist on then taking me from behind so they could only see my back, now having Bakura knead my chest like he couldn't get enough had me out of my mind with want. The fact that the testosterone had made my sex drive skyrocket did not help. I fumbled for Bakura's pants’ zipper and found him hard and eager to be stroked.

“Is this a private party?” Seto knelt beside us.

“The more the merrier.” Bakura smirked.

I grabbed Seto by the hair and pulled him in for a long, rough kiss. He whimpered in delight, gasping for air as I pulled away. 

“Where are Marik and Kek?” I asked. 

“Upstairs. Marik is teaching Kek how to apply eyeliner.” 

“Nice,” Bakura purred. “If he looks half as good as Marik in it, I might just cream myself before we even get started.” 

“Well let's go see how he looks.” Seto grinned, helping us to our feet and following us upstairs after Bakura managed to pull his pants back up. 

Kek started when he saw us burst into the room. Not only did he have eyeliner and lipstick, but his cheeks were highlighted and contoured and he wore black boots with six inch heels. 

“Oh, I, um- this. I was just curious.” He stuttered, looking like a guilty teenager. “I wasn’t really, I mean-”

“You look gorgeous!” I ran to him, standing up on my toes in order to kiss him with the heels on. It was like kissing Seto height-wise. 

“You… seriously fucking do,” Bakura agreed, eyes a little glassy as he stared.

“See? I told you.” Marik grinned. 

“Come to bed, and don't you dare take those heels off.” I dragged Kek to the mattress and beckoned the others to join us.

They'd always supported me, no matter what I wanted they always backed me up, and now I was going to make damn sure I was going to pay Kek back all the support he'd ever shown me. I held his chin, and traced my finger around his red stained lips.

“Gorgeous,” I whispered before brushing our lips together. “Absolutely gorgeous.” I kissed him again as the others gathered onto the bed in order to join us. 

“You are too,” he said, watching me as if he were afraid I'd argue like I used to.

But no, I wouldn't argue. I couldn't say I still didn't have anxious days, or dysphoric days, but overall I was more happy than I'd ever been. How could I not be? So I didn't argue. Instead I smiled and said what they'd always wanted to hear me say, but I never could honestly, until now. 

“I'm finally starting to believe it.” I kissed him again, pulling at his bottom lip. 

We struggled out of our clothes. I helped pull Kek’s shirt over his head, but I had to move for Kek to strip off his pants. The boots made it a challenge. We wiggled each leg off one at a time, and then I laid Kek back onto the bed and pushed his knees up in order to both admire the boots and spread his legs at the same time. Damn he looked beautiful, all spread out for me with the black gleam of leather contrasting against the dark brown of his calves. I couldn’t wait to get my hands back onto him. First, Seto helped me out of my own clothes and situated himself behind me. Bakura stole the opportunity to lay beside Kek and kiss him, completely sucking off his lipstick. 

“Hey, I worked hard on that,” Marik scolded, rolling Bakura on his back so they could kiss instead. 

While they were distracted with each other, I ran my tongue up and down Kek’s stomach, kneading his cock in my clenched fist to get him hard. Behind me, Seto massaged his lips up and down my spine and squeezed my ass. Once Kek was good and stiff I pressed our cocks (my clit) together and began to slide them back and forth. Kek groaned and closed his eyes. I hitched my hips, breath coming out in huffs as I went fast. Seto went to fetch to lube, dousing his fingers and then passing it to Marik. I felt him toying with my asshole for a moment before slipping a single finger inside. He pushed in and out in time with my own thrusts. I leaned forward a touch to give him a better angle with still frotting against Kek. I could already feel the tension climbing.

“ _Ah_!” I called out when he added the second finger. 

Beside the three of us, Marik was already in Bakura, easing in and out slowly to get him used to Marik’s girth. Bakura clutched at the sheets with his left hand and Kek’s nearby arm with his right hand as he groaned each time Marik sank inside his body. I nudged my ass up a little, signalling to Seto that I was ready as well. He pulled out his fingers and pressed his tip against my entrance, teasing me before pushing in. I slowed down, giving myself time to adjust to the exhilarating, looping sensation in my gut. 

“Ryou,” Kek whined when I didn’t pick back up the pace right away. 

I used Seto’s thrusts to facilitate my own. The pressure of Seto inside me and the feel of Kek and I rubbing together at the same time made my thighs tighten as I felt my first orgasm well up. It started in my belly and spread out all the way down to my toes. I shuddered, grunting, and then relaxing for a moment. I grabbed the bottle of lube between us and Marik and Bakura, and slicked my palm in order to grab Kek’s cock and stroke him as Seto continued to hitch and moan. 

Marik cried out, close himself. Bakura’s nails dug into Kek’s skin, creating crescent dimples in Kek’s bicep. Seto started going hard. I gasped, my hand faltering as I slammed both palms against the mattress to help brace myself. I kissed Kek’s stomach. He whimpered and squirmed and slung one of his legs around my neck. Seto’s voice dropped into a deep, primal growl as he came. I gasped as he slipped out, missing the pressure, but able to focus on Kek again. I crawled higher up his body and dropped down on his waiting, dripping cock. 

“Ryou!” Kek tossed his head back, bucking up and I dropped down. 

Seto stayed behind me, grabbing my chest with his left hand, teasing my cock with the other, and kissing my shoulder as I bobbed up and down. Kek grabbed my hips, encouraging me to rise and fall faster. 

“Bakura!” Marik lowered down onto his forearms, fisting Bakura’s hair and ramming into him hard and quick. 

Bakura’s screams filled the rooms, erotic and exciting to listen to. I was already getting close again, moaning as both Kek and Seto clung to my body. Kek’s nails dug into my hips and he bucked higher. Marik grunted, clenching his teeth as an orgasm rioted through his body. A moment later, Kek shuddered and came inside me. I held still, even after he finished, and allowed Seto to continued kissing the nape of my neck and stroking me until I came a second time. 

Then there was only Bakura left. Marik had grabbed a vibrator and was teasing Bakura’s entrance with it. I crawled around to the opposite side of them and started to lick Bakura’s cockhead. 

“Fuck!” Bakura growled as my tongue rolled up his shaft. 

Kek rolled onto his side. He grabbed Bakura’s chin and smashed their mouths together. Seto held the vibrator with Marik and together they eased it in and out of Bakura’s ass. Bakura moaned through Kek’s sloppy kisses. I took him deeper into my mouth, as much as I could fit from the awkward side position I was in. We tormented for several minutes, but finally he couldn’t take it any longer. He broke free from Kek’s mouth so he could wail in ecstasy as he came, and I swallowed until Bakura was limp. We lay huddled together. Everyone’s feet stuck out at a slightly different angle against the mattress. 

“Ryou, can I take my shoes off now? My feet are hot.”

“Yes.” I laughed. “That was really sexy though.” 

“You looked good,” Seto agreed. 

“I was always afraid, if I wore lipstick, or a skirt, you might get upset.”

“I’m sorry, Kek.” I scooted up higher on the bed so I could cup his face with my left hand (the other one still sticky). “Please be yourself around me. I already love you no matter who you want to be.” 

“See Kek? I told you. You only ever had to talk to him about it.” Marik mussed up Kek’s already wild hair. 

“I would suck you off all day long while you wore a skirt.” Bakura winked at him. 

“You just… seemed so sad sometimes.” 

“Well I’m not sad right now.” I grinned, brushing our noses together. “How could I be? When I have all of you.” 


End file.
